January 8th

It was impossible to tell time in the dark, smelly room Hermione was locked in. She didn't think more than a day had passed since she was portkeyed in by the stranger, but she had no way of being one hundred percent positive. Not only had he taken her wand, the candle had blown out hours earlier and no one had been back in to check on her.

She wasn't worried yet. There was still plenty of time to get herself out of the mess she was in before it got too dire. Humans were always making mistakes, especially when they were involved in something as tense as keeping a prisoner. That was a lesson she'd learned the hard way a few times herself. All she needed to do was remain patient a little while longer and be prepared to strike when the opportunity presented itself.

For hours after she heard the click of the lock, she tried to find some way to escape. Without magic and without any kind of useful tool, she was at a loss. Even dumping out the contents of her beaded bag produced nothing that could help. There were no loose boards, no hidden rooms, no windows to break and climb out of. Once she was convinced that she would just have to wait it out, she allowed herself to relax enough to sleep in the camp bed.

Her year hadn't been off to an auspicious start. After almost being caught just a short time after midnight on New Year's, she should've expected that nothing else would be easy. Wasn't it a tradition in most countries that how one celebrated the New Year was how they could expect to live for the entire year? If that depressing thought were the case, she would be dodging enemies for months to come.

What bothered her most about her captor was his complete unfamiliarity. Wizarding Britain was a relatively small community. One usually crossed the paths of just about everyone at some point. And after the war ended with a victorious Dark Lord, there were mandatory gatherings several times of all of his new subjects. Had she been so full of her own worries and concerns that she overlooked the man?

If his accent hadn't been decidedly Scottish, she would've assumed he was a foreign wizard visiting. There were enough of those to be sure. Most of them were bootlickers of the most stomach-turning variety. Hermione had been disgusted to learn the number of countries that were so quick to fawn over their newest leader as soon as he set up the new government. Either they were terrified to show the least bit of antagonization towards the new regime or they actually believed the drivel he was spouting. Whatever the reason, she hated them all.

Who was her captor working for? She tried to imagine every single possibility. There were quite a few options and it gave her the chance to keep her mind off of the growing fear that whatever was about to happen to her wasn't going to be pleasant. He gave no indication that he was a 'good guy' or a 'bad guy'. Of course, there were few of the so-called 'good guys' left and didn't kidnapping her immediately group him in as a bad sort?

The most obvious person who wanted her found was Lord Voldemort himself. He'd spent too much time and energy molding her into the perfect little puppet he could parade around in front of the world when morale needed to be boosted or resistors needed to be silenced. No doubt he was furious that she even dared to run. His future, long-term plans involved her without question. Not only had they been hinted at by members of all levels of his new government, but he'd made it clear directly to her as well.

But, she'd never seen her Scottish captor before and she knew everyone even remotely associated with the Dark Lord. At least domestically. It had all been part of her training and conditioning. If he was really there on the Dark Lord's behalf, there would be no reason to leave her locked in a basement. She would've been dragged straight to his regal-like court and tossed at his feet to face his displeasure.

Antonin Dolohov was the second most likely person to have hired the man to stalk her around Edinburgh. It would be like him to leave her locked in a basement with no food or water for days. Give her lots of time to think over her actions and begin to lament her follies. He'd want her good and compliant when he swooped in to drag her back home. He liked to break people. Make them desperate and needy. Clearly, the man had never known any real love in his life.

But, just like with the Dark Lord, she knew everyone that Dolohov knew. There was a time when there were no secrets that he had that she didn't know. It had been a surprising fact to learn that the usually stoic and silent man liked to talk when he had some fire whiskey in him. The trick, actually, was to get him to stop talking once he started. She learned quickly that there was a very valid reason why he didn't ever imbibe any alcoholic beverages outside of his own home.

Another possible candidate for the mastermind behind her kidnapping was Draco Malfoy. She didn't understand why he was after her. Truthfully, it didn't matter. His reputation preceded him. He had proven himself to be good at finding things that were lost. That included people who were on the run from their fate. He might have claimed the night that he found her that no one sent him, but his word wasn't exactly one she could afford to trust.

She couldn't understand why he would be looking for her if it wasn't because of one of the two wizards she'd already considered. There was no reason to seek her out otherwise. When they had been in the same room in the past, they avoided each other as much as possible. Even when he'd been a guest in that horrid place she was forced to call home, they didn't speak. Old wounds and habits and all that rubbish.

The opening of the door at the top of the unsteady staircase shook Hermione out of her thoughts. She jumped off to the camp bed to her feet. If something was going to happen, she wanted to be prepared and ready to fight.

"Miss me?"

If her wand had been in her hands, she would've cursed the man's blasted smirk off of his face. She was growing weary of this whole experience. Either kill her or let her go or drag her back to the life she was running from. The sitting around waiting was unbearable.

"Hardly. How long have I been down here?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"About a day. It'll be midnight in a few minutes."

"Why are you doing this? Who are you working for?"

His chuckle only served to infuriate his captive further. Hermione considered the sagacity of using her physical prowess to hurt him. How hard could she hit him before he struck back or stopped her? Instead, she decided it was safer to try to get some answers out of him by asking.

"The Dark Lord?"

"No."

"Dolohov?"

The stranger lifted a single eyebrow and smirked. She wasn't sure what prompted that kind of reaction, but it made her cheeks flush and her heart rate increase. At least in the darkness of the room he wasn't able to see.

"Absolutely not."

"Then who?"

"Doesn't matter."

He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of learning anything. It was his own personal game, she decided. For whatever reason she couldn't possibly fathom, he enjoyed not answering her questions.

"What is your name?"

"My name isn't important. You don't know me."

Hermione rubbed her tired eyes with a sigh.

"But you did know my little brother."

Her eyes shot up to meet his. Another amused quirk at his lips threatened to send her across the room at his throat. How could anyone find what was happening the least bit enjoyable?

"I'd already left Hogwarts before you arrived, but my baby brother was in your House."

"What's his name?"

"Oliver Wood."

Hermione suddenly felt like all of the air had been let out of the room. Once she had an idea of who she was standing with, she could see a resemblance to the former Gryffindor Keeper. In the eyes. And the cheekbones. She didn't have any doubt that he was telling her the truth. They looked like brothers. She'd seen those eyes looking back at her with murderous fury, abject terror, and then… nothing.

Whatever the purpose of her being locked in the basement was, she knew most definitely in that moment that it wasn't for a good reason. This Wood meant her harm. A great deal of harm. He might have been smiling, but she knew anger and determination even when it was well hidden. If she managed to make it out of that basement alive, she'd be surprised.